IN THE SPRING, WHEN Polly had been at the Old Station House for just over a year, several things happened that made her think long and hard about her life. Thus far, she felt that all decisions concerning her future could be postponed until George and Thea returned, which was still a year away, and she had settled very happily into this strange way of living with a parrot and a dog, having a boyfriend whom she did not desire and conducting a flirtation with another woman’s husband. Marcus Willby dropped by from time to time and once, after a very long boozy lunch, she told him the whole story of her life. He had laughed and laughed and called it the History of Mrs Polly and she had been very hurt and then had laughed with him. She enjoyed his visits, which had none of the brotherly flavour of her relationship with Freddie or the ‘living on the edge’ sensation she experienced with Tim. Marcus was so complete, so together, so relaxed. She had discovered that he was divorced, had a son at university, and that he lived in Richmond, but generally they talked about her and about Percy’s growing reputation. Thea’s books were doing very well indeed and ‘Percy the Parrot’ soft toys, T-shirts, china and other things were under discussion.
It was Marcus that Polly thought of first on the sunny May morning when she opened the letter that came from Paul asking her for a divorce. He told her that he wished to marry Fiona and suggested that they should meet to discuss the situation: perhaps she would like to come to Exeter for the day? Her heart jumped and bumped in alarm as she stared at the letter. She folded it, pushed it back into its envelope, took it out again and reread it. Divorce! Well, it was hardly a surprise. She had never thought that Paul would want her back and even if he did she wouldn’t want to go. Nevertheless, it made her face the future, wonder what would happen to her when Thea and George came back and needed her no longer. She went out on to the platform and sat on the seat where Thea had sat six years before wondering if George would go back to Felicity. Jessie wandered out behind her and pottered off down the track. Polly felt a great sense of loss. It occurred to her at that moment how desperately she would miss the Old Station House, her chats with Percy, the comforting presence of Jessie’s considerable bulk and Maggie’s friendship. She was overwhelmed by a stab of jealousy. How lucky Thea was to have all this as well as George and two beautiful daughters! Why should some people have good fortune thrust into their hands and others continually miss the boat? Striving to be just, she remembered how Thea had fought Felicity, holding on to all that she held dear, and remembered how easily she, Polly, had surrendered Paul to Fiona. She, too, had had a home and a husband and could have had children if she had so wished. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t the same but suspected that she envied all these things simply because they belonged to someone else and if suddenly, magically, they became hers, they would lose their charm.
So what did she want? She thought about Freddie, wishing that she could find him as physically attractive as she found Tim, and sighed heavily. First things first. She must see Paul and talk about divorce. Her stomach churned nervously as she imagined the scene. Where would it take place? Would Fiona be there? At the mere thought of it Polly rose to her feet and began to pace the platform. She wished it were a Maggie morning. Maggie would display solidarity and lend support but Maggie could not show her a future. Where would she go and what would she do? She attempted to stop this flight into panic by reminding herself that it was another year before George and Thea would be home for good. The important thing was to take advice regarding this proposed meeting but whom should she ask? Freddie would be at the clinic or out on call at this time of the morning but it might be possible to talk to Tim. He had given her the number of his business line as well as his private number and she decided that she would try to have a word with him without involving Miranda. He answered at once, sounding so preoccupied and businesslike that Polly floundered a little. As soon as he realised who it was his voice changed and became much more intimate. Somewhat incoherently she explained her dilemma.
‘Don’t go to the house,’ said Tim at once. ‘You must meet him on neutral ground, just the two of you. And don’t let him talk you into things. Look, we can’t discuss this over the telephone. I’ve got to come down to Plymouth tomorrow afternoon. I’ll come in on the way back.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I shan’t say anything to Miranda,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow. Fiveish.’
He hung up and Polly was left wondering whether he meant that he wouldn’t tell her about Paul’s letter or the fact that he intended to visit the Old Station House, although she knew perfectly well in her heart that by ringing him on his business line she had tacitly indicated that this was between her and Tim. She felt strangely nervous and found herself unable to relax, wandering to and fro, up and down, until she could bear her own company no longer and telephoned Freddie, who had just got in. She told him about the letter without mentioning Tim and he agreed at once that she should have some plan before she met Paul. He asked if she would like him to come over but she felt so jumpy that she decided a walk would do her good and she arranged to be with him in an hour or so.
Freddie replaced the receiver and stood in a brown study. He felt as if something momentous had occurred and that he now stood at the edge of a precipice. But why a precipice? He loved Polly, he was sure of it. So why these feelings of terror? Perhaps they would both be happier if they were committed to each other instead of continuing with this rather odd relationship they’d drifted into during the last year. He swallowed once or twice and took several deep breaths. He must offer her the support she would need now to face divorce proceedings and her own future. Freddie hurried into the kitchen, went to the cupboard and poured himself a large Scotch. He gulped it down and poured another, watched with interest by Charlie Custard.
‘It’s all right for you, old man,’ muttered Freddie. ‘God, wish I was a dog!’
WHEN TIM ARRIVED THE following afternoon, Polly was still reeling from her session with Freddie who, fortified with several large Scotches, had proposed to her in ringing, positive tones and implied that if she didn’t accept he would know that she’d been leading him on and playing with his affections. After several drinks she had found herself agreeing with him and only when he put his arms around her and, puffing great breaths of whisky in her face, attempted to kiss her did her old fears return. The ν were both rather relieved when Charlie Custard, assuming that Polly was attacking Freddie, started to bark so excitedly that they were obliged to draw apart. Polly, fearing further approaches might be forthcoming and seeing that Freddie was in no fit state to give her any sensible advice, said that she must get back and promised to telephone in the morning. When the morning came she lost her nerve and was pacing restlessly up and down the platform when Tim arrived.
He came towards her looking vital and alive, gave her a hug and then caught her close and kissed her. Ever since she had telephoned an idea had been growing in his mind. A different man might long since have followed up Polly’s readiness to flirt with him and the unspoken acceptance of mutual attraction with a suggestion that they become lovers. It would have been easy enough with Polly alone at the Old Station House. Tim, however, was no philanderer. Nevertheless, he was so infatuated by all the qualities about her that were so un-Mirandalike that he felt suddenly inclined to throw caution to the winds.
Oh, Polly,’ he said. ‘I’ve been thinking and thinking. If there were some way round it without hurting Miranda too much, d’you think you might marry me? She’s been so strange lately that I’m beginning to wonder if she wishes that we’d never met. I know she isn’t happy and nothing I do can seem to put it right. I’d have to talk to her, of course. I’ve thought of nothing else since you telephoned. You don’t have to answer now. You’ll have lots on your mind for the moment. I just wanted you to know how I feel.’ He kissed her again whilst she stood limp and unresisting in his arms. ‘Poor Polly. You’re exhausted. Let’s talk about this meeting with Paul and how you must approach it. You haven’t got a drink somewhere, have you?’
Stunned by Tim’s declaration, mesmerised by his concise explanations and instructions on how she must approach Paul and having drunk almost a whole bottle of wine, she agreed to everything and it was only when she crawled into bed that she realised she had now agreed to marry both Tim and Freddie as soon as she had obtained a divorce from Paul.
The next morning, after a night spent in sleepless anxiety, she did what she had meant to do in the first place. She telephoned Marcus Willby.
‘What shall I do?’ she wailed, having poured out the whole sorry tale. ‘I’ve got to meet Paul and talk about divorce without letting him bully me and now I’ve agreed to marry Tim and Freddie.’
His roars of laughter, even at such a distance, comforted her. ‘You’re lucky that it’s a Friday,’ he told her. ‘I’ll drive down this evening. I’ll book a room at the Bedford and be with you in the morning. And don’t speak to anyone else until I get there.’
Polly replaced the receiver feeling comforted. She wasn’t quite certain what Marcus would do but she felt much better and decided to spend as much of the day as possible out of the house.
‘I shall go and see Kate,’ she told Percy. ‘I like Kate.’
‘Plain Kate and bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curst,’ quoted Percy glumly and gave a loud squawk.
‘It’s no good, Percy. I daren’t stay in. Tim or Freddie might telephone and I don’t want to speak to either of them at the moment. I promise I won’t be too long and Maggie’11 be here in a minute.’
She telephoned Kate, who told her to come straight over, and, fearing that talking even to Maggie might confuse her further and that it was wise to take Marcus’s advice, she collected her things and hurried out to the car.
WHEN JON TELEPHONED EARLY on Friday morning and asked if he could come for the weekend, Freddie felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He could barely remember what he had said to Polly, having decided to finish the bottle of Scotch after her departure. He woke the next morning feeling terribly ill and with the strong presentiment that he was a doomed man and wondered what the next step would be. He spent the day with a hangover and in the evening took the dogs for a long walk while he tried to sort out the appalling jumble in his head.
The thought that Jon was coming enabled him to struggle through the day and when he saw the now familiar car pulling in through the gate he hurried out accompanied by Charlie Custard.
‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,’ he said, relieving Jon of his overnight bag. ‘Come on in. Kettle’s on. Or would you prefer a drink?’
‘I’d kill for some coffee,’ said Jon, pausing to give Charlie Custard a hug. ‘You sound a touch fraught. What’s been going on?’
‘Oh well.’ Freddie put Jon’s bag down on a chair and shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed. ‘It’s been one of those weeks. You know.’
Jon looked round the cluttered friendly kitchen and smiled a little. ‘I do indeed. I can’t tell you how nice it is to be back. It’s very good of you to let me escape to you like this. Makes London possible.’
‘You’re always welcome,’ began Freddie, making coffee, and then paused.
It struck him that if he married Polly and brought her here, his weekends with Jon—lazing about, endless chats, going for long walks, evenings at the pub—would be a thing of the past and he suddenly knew that he would miss them dreadfully.
‘What’s the trouble?’ Jon was sitting at the table with Charlie Custard leaning heavily against his leg.
Freddie continued to make the coffee, his movements slow and heavy. ‘I’ve been an idiot,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve proposed marriage to Polly and I’ve just realised that it’s a ghastly mistake.’
‘Has she accepted you?’ Jon’s voice was calm and he continued to stroke the great dog beside him.
‘I think so.’ Freddie gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘I had to get myself tanked up to do it and I can’t remember much about it. I shouted a bit so as not to lose my nerve.’
He put a mug of coffee beside Jon and shook his head in despair.
‘Poor Freddie.’ Jon reached for his mug. ‘You are in a muddle, aren’t you?’
‘I thought I loved her,’ explained Freddie, sitting opposite with his own mug, ‘but when it comes to anything physical it doesn’t seem to work. I’m just not very good with women. And don’t tell me it’s because I haven’t met the right one.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of telling you anything of the sort. It’s much simpler than that.’
‘Is it?’
Freddie looked up and across at Jon and suddenly it all became very simple indeed. He flushed a dark red but kept his eyes on Jon, who continued to smile at him. The world shifted a little and clicked into place. They sat quite still looking at one another and Freddie felt a great tide of peace and happiness slowly engulfing him.
‘How did you know?’ he asked at last.
Jon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I just did. Does it matter?’
‘No. Oh, no. Only I might have . . . How awful if I’d married Polly!’
‘Disastrous, I should think,’ said Jon cheerfully. ‘Not that I’d have let you, of course. I was hoping that you might come to it yourself but I was beginning to despair. I decided I’d have to tell you how I felt and risk getting thrown out.’
Freddie looked shy, pleased and rather overwhelmed. ‘When did you know?’ he asked bravely.
‘When you got out of your Fourtrak and introduced yourself,’ said Jon. ‘I remember thinking how wonderful it would be if we got snowed up together.’
‘Well,’ said Freddie, blushing furiously again, ‘you had a start on me there. I’ve got some catching up to do.’ Joy and excitement were crashing over him like golden waves.
‘No hurry,’ said Jon, drinking his coffee. ‘It takes a while to adjust. And we’ve got the rest of our lives.’
The thought of that made Freddie feel so happy that he feared he might weep. He swallowed, nodded, picked up his mug and put it down again.
‘I don’t know what to do or say,’ he admitted. ‘It’s such a shock and such an enormous relief. And frightening.’
‘I know.’ Jon pushed Charlie Custard off and stood up. ‘I think a drink might not be a bad idea after all. In the cupboard? OK if I get them?’
As he passed behind his chair he touched Freddie’s head lightly.
Freddie nodded, not trusting himself to speak as all the sensations that had been missing in past relations began to make themselves deliciously manifest. Jon poured two stiff drinks and passed a glass to Freddie.
‘To us,’ he said.
WHEN MIRANDA TOLD TIM that David was coming for the weekend he gave a great sigh of relief. As he’d driven home from the Old Station House his euphoria had gradually waned and at the sight of Miranda his resolve had weakened. He seemed to have been visited with a fit of madness and suddenly saw clearly all the difficulties which would result if he should take the step he had outlined to Polly. Miranda was quiet and edgy and he wondered if she had guessed that something was afoot. Her behaviour was quite different from the way she usually was if she suspected him of philandering. There was something vulnerable about her that made him see just how difficult it would be to hurt her.
She said that she was going out on Friday afternoon and Tim hung about watching for David. He was actually on the telephone when David arrived and when he finally came out of his office it was to find David putting down his bag in the hall. At the sight of the comforting figure of his father-in-law, he ran across and flung his arms round him.
‘Gracious!’ beamed David. ‘Now that’s what 1 call a welcome. Will you think me a cynic if I ask whatever can be the matter?’
‘It’s lovely to see you,’ laughed Tim. ‘It really is. But I’m in a frightful muddle, to tell you the truth.’
‘Guessed as much,’ said David cheerfully. ‘Is my dear daughter to blame? Where is she?’
‘She’s had to go out. Don’t know where. Said she wouldn’t be long. Come into the library and have a drink.’
‘Sounds a splendid idea.’ David followed readily. ‘So what have you been up to? A woman, is it?’
‘How did you guess?’ said Tim, busy with the decanters.
‘Always is, my dear fellow,’ said David gloomily. ‘That or money. If Miranda’s like her mother it’s probably the former.’
‘How d’you mean?’ Tim gave David a glass and they sat down.
‘Both very jealous people, d’you see? Insecure. They see even the most innocent approach to the opposite sex as something to be feared.’ David sighed and shook his head. ‘It’s very sad. I tried to understand it but sometimes the fact that I was being treated like some hardened libertine made me want to behave badly. Being constantly watched and questioned is very tiring and the company of an easygoing woman sometimes went to my head, I’m afraid.’ He looked at Tim and raised his eyebrows. ‘Ring a bell?’
‘Oh, David. Yes. What a comfort you are. The trouble is, I’ve let it get out of hand.’
‘Aaah,’ said David thoughtfully and drank deeply.
‘No, no,’ said Tim quickly. ‘It’s not what you’re thinking. I haven’t slept with her. Nothing like that.’
‘Then what’s the problem?’ David looked puzzled.
‘I’ve proposed marriage to her,’ said Tim wretchedly.
‘My dear boy!’ David nearly spilled his drink.
‘I know. I know. It’s just we’ve had this sort of flirtation going. She’s great fun, quite scatty, and it was a sort of relief. Like you said just now. And she had this problem, divorcing her husband and so on, and I got carried away and asked her to marry me. Miranda’s been so odd these last few weeks. To tell the truth, I wonder whether she’s regretting marrying me. I’m not sure I make her happy. Oh, hell!’
‘The thing is . . . ’ began David and paused to listen as a door slammed.
Miranda’s voice could be heard calling them and the next second the door was flung open and she stood confronting them. Both men rose to their feet as though hauled up by strings and stared at her. Her face was flushed, her usually neat hair was rumpled and she looked young and happy.
Oh, Daddy! How lovely to see you,’ she cried. Oh, I’m glad you’re here. Oh, Tim! It’s so wonderful. You’ll never guess.’ She shook her head, her hair flying about her face, and stretched out her arms to them. ‘You’ll never believe it. Oh, Tim, I’m pregnant. It’s been confirmed. Isn’t it amazing? Oh, I’m so happy.’
And she collapsed on to the nearest chair and burst into tears.